


Fever

by protect-him (dooliandrake)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dooliandrake/pseuds/protect-him
Summary: It was a really boring day at work, so...fenders.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble/fluff

Fenris had hardly considered the fact that he was going more frequently to Anders’ clinic until one of Anders’ regulars, a bent old man with a habit of getting into fights, waved cheerfully at him as he passed.

“Anders isn't seeing anyone today,” the man called.

Fenris stopped in his tracks.

“What? How do you know where I'm going?”

“I'm not blind, son. I might be old, but I ain't blind. I see you come down several times a week to see the doctor. You sick?”

Fenris frowned and shook his head.

A scrawled sign hung suspended from a stretched piece of twine across the open doorway. He regarded it for a moment and then ducked under into the clinic.

The air was hot and heavy in here, the summer heat having nowhere to go. Fenris set his sword across the mage’s desk, careful not to disturb his stacks of paper. He set his gauntlets and breastplate on the vacant bed for sick patients. Anders himself was nowhere to be seen.

Fenris ventured into the narrow space that served as Anders’ bedroom, and found him there.

Anders was asleep, stretched out on the bed, sheets thrown onto the floor. His hair was damp. Sweat glistened on his forehead and neck. Even the feathered coat he usually slept in lay in a sad discarded heap.

Fenris strode to the cot and pressed his palm to the mage’s forehead. Anders just groaned.

“Anders, wake up,” Fenris said, bending closer.

The mage stirred, but didn't wake. Fenris wiped his palm on his leggings and huffed. Anders was clearly sick. Fenris tried to think of what had been done for slaves sick with fever in Tevinter.

They were given some nasty concoction to drink and then a good deal of hot water. He had seen some putting wet cloths on their foreheads. He felt Anders’ arm. His skin was clammy and cool.

Fenris picked up one of the blankets, shook it out, and lay it across him. He padded out to look for food.

When he came back with a skin of water, Anders had thrown the blanket off again.

“Your skin is cold,” Fenris said, putting down the water to cover him again.

“The sign said that the clinic is closed today,” Anders muttered.

“That sign can't stop me,” Fenris said, “because I can't read.”

“You can read well enough to know it has your name on it.”

“It could have said ‘Fenris please come in,’” Fenris said, pulling up a stool. “Now drink this.”

“You know it doesn't say that,” Anders frowned.

“I know. Drink.”

“Is this just water?”

“Yes. What were you expecting?”

“I was hoping it was something a little stronger.”

“This is all you have.”

“Oh yes, that's right. I don't _have_ anything else.”

“Just drink it.”

“Blech, it's warm.”

“Everything in here is warm,” Fenris said. “It's very hot out. It's summer.”

“I'm _hot_ , why did you put this blanket on me?”

“You felt cold. Drink more.”

“Could you at least put some elfroot in it? Maybe make tea?”

“Elfroot leaves?”

“Please, maker, yes. Anything is better than that nasty water.”

Fenris stood. “Do not remove the blanket while I am away.”

“Hmmph.”

Fenris put a log on the coals and coaxed the fire back into life. He nestled the kettle against the coals and poured the water in.

He located the meager stash of elfroot and took out a handful of leaves. He squatted by the fire, considering the leaves in his hand. Just...drop them in? Should he tear them up? Surely this wasn't Anders’ idea of soup. He tore the leaves into several pieces and watched them darken as the water saturated them. He watched for several minutes until the water began to bubble and then carefully dipped a wooden mug in and scooped a helping. It smelled very medicinal, though it didn't look appetizing.

Anders knew best, though.

He handed the cup to Anders, who had reluctantly kept the blanket on, though he'd pushed it down to his chest.

Anders stared into the cup.

”You just...put the leaves in?”

“I did as you said.”

“I guess. You don't...know how to make tea?”

“Tea?”

Anders sighed.

“Thank you, Fenris.”

“Do you need me to get Hawke?”

“No, I'll be alright. I have a hot fever.”

“Do you need anything else? More...tea?”

Anders stuck out his tongue to peel off the leaf stuck to it. “Can you hold this?”

Fenris grimaced and accepted the leaf.

Anders eyed him over the top of his cup.

“You know, _you're_ a hot fever too.”

“I'm _what_?”

“Hot. Er, aren't you hot? I mean...cold? You look cold.”

“You seem a little confused, mage.”

“You're confusing. You say you don't like me but you come to see me for reading lessons. Anyone else could teach you just as well. Here.” He handed Fenris the mug.

“Do you need more?”

“You know, funny thing. Elfroot just makes you so relaxed when you eat it. I don't even remember why I told you to stay out.” Anders grinned, smoothing the blanket.

“Really.” Fenris set down the mug, with the sticky leaf deposited inside it.

“My brain is telling me not to tell you this, you know,” Anders said, “but it's a silly thing. Brains are silly.”

“Yes, of course,” Fenris said.

“I just want to tell you I think you're the handsomest elf I ever met and I think about kissing you all the time.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

Anders laughed nervously. “You sure you aren't cold?”

“Quite sure.”

“Oh. Um, well, _I'm_ cold. I sure wish you'd get in here with me. Then I could be warm.”

“Would that really make you feel better?”

“Uh huh.” Anders nodded.

“I thought you were hot.”

“I'm cold now.”

“I don't think there's room. Let me go get your jacket.”

Anders reached out and grabbed Fenris’ wrist.

“I don't want my jacket. I'm thin. There's room.” He shimmied toward the other side of the bed.

“Just this once,” Fenris said, reluctantly. “And only if you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Not a word,” Anders said, tugging on Fenris’ arm.

“I don't know why I'm doing this,” Fenris grumbled.

He could feel the heat of Anders’ fever against his legs and chest. He fit comfortably against the mage, more comfortably than he had expected. Anders sighed happily.

“This really brings you that much joy, mage?”

Fenris tipped his head up and flushed when he realized how close he was to Anders. The mage’s smile seemed to invite him closer. Anders eyes were closed, full blond lashes throwing pale shadows among the faint freckles just under his eyes. His skin seemed to glow, but maybe it was just the heat. Fenris wanted to wrap his fingers in the halo of rumpled hair around Anders’ thin face. Anders hummed, eyes starting open when Fenris slid up to kiss him.

He was hesitant at first, afraid of displeasing the mage, but Anders seemed to melt, a smooth palm coming to rest against Fenris’ cheek. Fenris pressed closer, wrapping his arm around and finally pressing his hand into Anders’ soft hair. When Fenris let go, Anders gasped.

“You'll get sick,” he said. “You shouldn't have done that.”

“If I do, you'll make sure I don't die. You can show me how to make tea.”

“Fenris, you make wonderful tea, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Blech,” Fenris mimed Anders pulling the leaf off his tongue.

“It was delicious,” Anders said, letting his eyes fall closed.

“I can tell when you're lying.”

“I don't want to fall asleep yet. Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Sleep, mage. I'll be here.”

Fenris wouldn't have minded watching Anders sleep, but he fell asleep himself after a while, feeling safe with Anders’ arm across him, their bodies just barely touching. Somehow, Anders’ thin cot was more pleasant than the broad, cold bed in Fenris’ mansion. Or maybe, he just needed someone to share it with.


End file.
